


Look past my flesh and bones and see me for my soul alone

by Verse



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Developing Relationship, Other, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verse/pseuds/Verse
Summary: Ereshkigal doesn't know who has been leaving love letters at her doorstep. She knows, whoever, who she'dlikeit to be.(Even if she knows no one would want a goddess of death for a lover, Ereshkigal can't help but being in love, in love, in love)
Relationships: Ereshkigal |Lancer/Astolfo | Rider of Black
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Look past my flesh and bones and see me for my soul alone

It starts, as many things do, with a letter.

White paper, messy handwriting. Folded in half in a small envelope and slipped under her door.

Of course, the letter itself doesn’t matter so much as the words written on it.

“A love note?” Nitocris raises both eyebrows in surprise. “Who is it from?”

“It wasn’t signed.” Ereshkigal answers. “But it was, uh. Quite generous in compliments.”

“As it  _ should _ be. You’re a queen, after all.” Nitocris nods to herself. Ereshkigal wishes she had the same confidence as her-

“Hey, girls!” A preppy voice rises from the door. “How y’all doing?”

“Great! Just great!” Ereshkigal hurriedly answers. She turns around with a wild smile, eager to change the subject. She can’t let them know  _ she can’t let them know  _ “How about you, Astolfo?”

* * *

Ereshkigal doesn’t know who the writer of these letters are. She does know, however, who she’d  _ like _ them to be.

Because the thing about Astolfo, is-

“You’re staring again. Do I have something on my face?”

they’re handsome. 

Pretty.  _ Beautiful. _ Asu-shu-namir shaped Ereshkigal’s taste in people for her whole life, sue her. She can’t help feeling weak before this smooth skin, this perfect hair, this high-pitched voice. She can’t help feeling weak before these strong arms, this broad chest, this sharp jaw. 

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“The Underworld? Yeah, I’ve been there once! Not Kur, obviously. The one I went to was neat, though. It was fun.”

they’re soothing. 

There’s  _ something  _ about them, the unmistakable mark of the Underworld, just below their skin. Not like the undead. It’s much closer to her or Nitocris. Someone with ties to down there, even back when they were alive.

Ereshkigal loves the Overworld, and loves living beings. But she can’t deny that they’re a little… overwhelming. A bit of familiarity is, welcome.

(“Aw, thanks! You feel the same, actually! A fellow Moon-dweller.”

“I… never went there, though?”

“It might just be that you don’t remember. The Moon is where everything lost lies. People can end there too, when they’re lost or forgotten. It’s hard work getting them back down.”)

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“Oh, do you need help with that? Here, let me!”

they’re kind. 

Overwhelmingly so. They get into trouble more often than not, and many think it’s because they love chaos, (which, to be fair, they do,) but Ereshkigal knows better. Astolfo  _ cannot _ see someone and not help them. They’re very similar to the Master, in that way. A complete disregard for their own safety in the face of a troubled face.

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“Ah, almost forgot myself here. Sorry!”

they’re so considerate. 

Ereshkigal isn’t… good, with touch. She’s working on it! But the sheer  _ warmth- _ the  _ pressure _ \- the knowledge that  _ someone is touching her, the queen of Kur, mistress of the dead, willingly touching her- _

it’s. A Lot.

Astolfo is nothing  _ but _ touch. Always hugging others, always patting a shoulder, holding a hand, elbowing rips. That’s their default way of showing affection. 

And you’d think it’d be a problem, you’d think there’d be friction, but-

Astolfo…  _ doesn’t _ touch Ereshkigal.

Oh, they want to, that much is obvious. Often, they reach out for her. Often, they raise their hands, to pat or hold or pet.

But they always stop themself, inches away from her skin.

She knows it has to be really counterintuitive to them. And she knows it must be hard for them to remember not to touch her everytime. (It’s hard for Astolfo to remember a lot of things.) Yet they try. Yet they  _ do. _ For her. For her comfort. And when they forget, they apologize, always, always.

It’s been a couple months, and Ereshkigal has now worked her way to simple touches. Yet Astolfo rarely ever initiates. They wait for her to touch them, and even then, she can  _ see _ how much they scrutinize her when they reciprocate, ready to back down at the first hint of discomfort.

For  _ her.  _ All of this, they do it for  _ her. _

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“Huh. I don’t really get it, but you’re welcome!”

they’re not scared.

Of anything, in general. But most importantly, of  _ her.  _ Ereshkigal, goddess of death. Ereshkigal, chaotic evil. Ereshkigal, ruler of mesopotamian Hell.

They’ve never even  _ flinched.  _ From the first day they’ve seen her.

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“You… remembered what I said? You actually listen when I talk?”

they’re so, so deeply lonely.

Well. No.  _ Lonely _ isn’t the right word. Astolfo has quite a lot of friends. They’re a social butterfly, always jumping from newcomer to veteran servant, chatting up even the Chaldea staff.

But there’s… something, like a gap, between Astolfo and others. It’s in the way they laugh Astolfo off as a naive idiot. It’s in the way they get frustrated when Astolfo forgets things.

And it makes Ereshkigal angry, so angry, that righteous fury that make gods tremble. 

Because they don’t get it. Because they don’t  _ try _ to get it. Because sometimes Astolfo talks about one thing or another, and pauses, and then  _ apologizes,  _ as if their thoughts were a bother, as if  _ they _ were a bother. Because whenever she mentions something Astolfo talked about in the past, they get  _ surprised- _ always, always, without fail.

Because Astolfo is so good, so kind, a ray of sunshine barely dressed in flesh. Because Astolfo deserves so many things, because Astolfo is so important, and  _ they’re convinced that they’re nothing but a side character. _

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“Hey, check out that new card game Nobu gave me! Wanna play?”

(Fingers trembling over the door frame. Stiff shoulders. Forced smile. It’s subtle, but it’s there. It’s subtle, but  _ something’s wrong.) _

they trust her.

She hadn’t known what to do, that night. Something had clearly been…  _ off,  _ about Astolfo. But she’s never been the social one;  _ they _ were. The best she could do- the best she did- was humor them. Play, and talk, and fill in the silences. (Sometimes, she hears people joke about wishing Astolfo would speak a little less. She wonders if they know. How downright  _ disturbing _ it is to witness Astolfo being quiet.)

Her bed is small, and touch is difficult, but she’d tried really, really hard, and their back had been burning hot and impossibly broad against her own, but for them she’d endured it. She’d wished she could have hugged them, back then.

Astolfo hadn’t complained. As she’d drifted off to sleep, she swears she’s heard the softest “thank you.”

The next day, they’d been back to normal.

(She’d checked the calendar, afterwards. That night had been a new moon.)

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“Hey, look! I made you a plushie of Hippo-kun!”

“This nail polish looks SO good on you. Give me your other hand!”

“Hey! I found these flowers earlier, and I thought of you!”

they’re her friend. They’re her dear, important friend.

And Ereshkigal is in love with them.

(In her opinion, they’re an easy person to fall in love with.)

* * *

Because the thing about Astolfo is-

“Oh, hey! Great timing!”

that they’re standing right in front of her door.

“Here, take this!” They hand her something. “And I’m off. Have a nice day!”

A small envelope. It contains, Ereshkigal is sure, a white paper folded in half, filled with messy handwriting.

She can feel her face  _ heating up. _

“W-wait! You don’t get to just  _ leave! _ ”

“Huh? Why? Do you need me for something?” They tilt their head.  _ Genuinely confused. _

“This is a love letter!”

“Indeed it is!” They nod, pleased with themself. “I worked hard on these, I hope it shows.”

“... But  _ why? _ ”

And now they’re back to confused. “... Because I’m trying to court you? I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“...” Ereshkigal stands here. Dumbstruck. Because they just  _ said it.  _ Because Ereshkigal never,  _ in a million years,  _ thought this’d be a possibility. That anyone-  _ yet alone the person she herself fancies- _ might actually reciprocate. Because they make it sound so  _ simple.  _ Because they make it sound so  _ obvious.  _

“I… the letters weren’t signed.” She says stupidly.

“...” Astolfo blinks. “Oh. It genuinely didn’t occur to me to.” They chuckle sheepishly. “My bad.”

_ My bad. _

And it’s  _ such _ an Astolfo thing to say, Ereshkigal can’t help but laugh, too.

“I should have known it was you.” (Couldn’t believe it could be them)”... Do you mean them? The things you wrote?”

There are a few seconds of silence. Astolfo looks at her, as if wondering how to best answer, and she can feel dread starting to gather in her throat and-

Astolfo suddenly gets on one knee, like a knight.

“Ereshkigal.” They sound solemn all the sudden, with that tone they use when they’re trying really hard to focus. They raise a hand, and, gently, seize just the tip of her fingers, and they’re so warm, warm,  _ warm,  _ “You’re one of the gentlest souls I’ve ever known. You’re pretty, and strong, and kind, and.” 

A pause.

Then, really quietly.

“You listen. People don’t usually listen.”

(That loneliness with no name, this gap with no words.)

Slowly, so that she can pull away at any time, Astolfo raises her hand, and softly kisses the back of her fingers. For a few seconds, Ereshkigal forgets to even  _ breathe. _

“So, yes. I meant everything I wrote. And if you’ll allow me, I have plenty more praises I’d like to write about you in the future.”

They tilt her hands on the side, and their lips are on her wrist, and their eyes are on her, and there’s a look on their face, something like adoration, something like worship. A knight bowing before their queen.

Love.

“So, will you?”

“What?” Her face feels so hot there must be steam coming out of her ears.

“Allow me to write more to you?” They run a thumb over her knuckles. “I will stop, if you want me to.”

(Always. Always.  _ If you’re comfortable. If you want me to.  _ An inch over her skin, begging to touch her, yet stopping for her sake.)

“You could be writing to me about rocks you found on the side of the road and I’d love it.” She blurts out. And it’s true.

Astolfo laughs, with that beautiful voice of theirs that gets her head spinning everytime. (Happiness is such a good look on them.)

(They still haven’t let go of her hand.)

“See? This, right there. This is why I love you.”


End file.
